May 31st, 1888 — Irvingly Infirmary

She had received the owl the evening before and left on the first morning train. Blythe would hardly begrudge her aunt this, for Hufflepuff was scarcely in the lead for the house cup and it was not as though the fifth year had planned to attend any festivities anyways. Besides, an anxiety for Aunt Temperance’s wellbeing had taken her, and it was not until she crossed the threshold of the Irvingly Infrimary that Blythe felt as though she might breathe again.

“You look well, Aunt,” she offered in tentative greeting, her relief plain on her face. The Hufflepuff had expected the woman who raised her to be altogether savaged; a few scrapes that would heal swiftly were all that adorned her instead. “God bless,” she added as an afterthought.

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   Temperance Fairchild

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It was a truth universally acknowledged that nurses and healers made the very worst patients, or at least that was what her colleagues told her every time any one of them past, smirks threatening to burst out at any moment despite Temperance’s scowl. At least Trelawney had had the decency to laugh at her openly as she tended the wounds. She could stand that, what she couldn’t abide was the enormous mortification of having to lie here as if on display when really she had been quite fit to leave this morning.

She curled her fingers around the Prophet, wanting nothing more than to screw it up and hurl it to the other side of the ward, but she doubted either her extremities or her arms would be up to it given how scratched they were. There was no point making it worse after all. As a result she was simply glaring at the paper when her niece arrived and immediately straightened up on the bed, frowning at Blythe in some confusion.

“I am well. Did the school really find it necessary to send you home early for the sake of a few scratches? Honestly the Headmaster has entirely loosed his moorings this year.”

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   Blythe Fairchild

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Blythe's cheeks flushed.

"I requested to," the Hufflepuff confessed. "Professor Darrow saw no harm in it, given the time of year, but I thought you might wish for the company."

Evidently, Blythe thought, she had been mistaken in that. How could her aunt manage to make her feel as though she erred even when doing something charitable?

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Sniffing in irritation Temperance tried to suppress the part of her that was touched. Blythe meant well, she generally did, but the very last thing Temperance really wanted at the moment was for her niece to see her quite so brought down. She felt weak and pathetic. It did not inspire authority, as she had learnt from her colleagues’ reaction, and it was hardly how she wanted to be seen by Blythe.

“I suppose your exams are finished. If I recall the weeks after their completion there is little but wasteful frivolity to occupy one’s time,” she gestured towards the nearest chair, deciding she approved of her niece’s thoughtfulness, even if she saw no need to announce the fact. “You may as well be here being useful.”

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   Aldous Crouch

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"Oh, I'd not have dreamed of leaving if they hadn't been!" Blythe rushed to assure her guardian, blushing slightly as she recalled that the O.W.L.s were not a topic she particularly wanted to discuss. She did not think she had done as badly as expected going into them, but her lack of scholastic prowess was unlikely to rejuvenate Aunt Temperance.

"And idle hands are the Devil's playthings. Is there anything I can fetch for you?"

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“Not for the moment,” she waved away the offer, hardly wishing her colleagues to see her being waited on by a child. They asked too many questions about the inhabitants of her household as was.

“Tell me about the OWLs. I will be expecting great things from you. Your father is a devotee of education,” or at least she had always assumed it to be so, or else he would never have been so incensed when she outperformed him at school. She refused to entertain the notion that he might have given in to the sins of envy or, worst of all, pride.

  

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Mentally, Blythe cringed. She would, she hoped, have enough O.W.L.s to technically continue her education, but the Hufflepuff suspected that the kind of scholarship that would convince her aunt to allow it was…out of her grasp. That her father evidently was passionate for education was another nail in her coffin: two parental figures, both disappointed in her. Joy.

“It will be some time before I know anything for certain,” Blythe reminded the woman tentatively. She thought it best not to mention she had blown up a chair in her efforts to cast a shield charm for her Defence examiners. “I must confess that I do not think I performed as well in Ancient Runes as I would like, but I feel quite certain that He guided my efforts in the practical aspects of Divination and Transfiguration.”

The first—on Divination—was true, and Transfiguration, well, she hadn’t blown anything up, and Blythe thought her aunt might respect the subject.

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Though she did not know it Blythe had managed to bolster Temperance’s hopes for her and dash them in the same breath. It may have been part of the curriculum but Temperance held Divination in roughly the same esteem she did the muggle passion for fortune telling: both were guess work with guidelines created by mortals to try and determine the fate the Lord had lain out for them and she abhorred the arrogance of assuming they could possible divine his intentions. It was practically blasphemy and it had been with great reluctance she had even agreed to Blythe partaking in the blasted subject.

At least she may have excelled in it, along with much more sensible disciplines.

“I suppose I shall have to wait and see shall I not?” She asked rhetorically, meeting her niece’s gaze with a piecing one of her own. “Unless you predicted your results too?” Though meant as a joke it fell decidedly flat. She was not skilled at them.

  

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Her laugh was genuine, if tense.

"If I could do that, Aunt," she giggled, "I daresay I would no longer have need for academics!" No doubt she would have been removed from school, too, to grow such a talent in a more financially prudent manner.

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A small amount of frivolity was not unbecoming in a girl of Blythe’s age so Temperance did not chastise her for the laughter: it seemed genuine rather than mocking so she would allow it. But unfortunately for Blythe she had also touched upon something Temperance had been waiting all term to say her piece about.

“That may well be the case either way.”

wrap it up?

  

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Her face fell—not quite into a frown, for she caught herself before that point. Still, it was a...pertinent, touchy subject, and one that, Blythe thought silently, was best left to another day.

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